What Happens In the Changing Room
by little0bird
Summary: Characters in the HP-verse need to blow off some steam...
1. What Happens In the Changing Room

A/N: I'd like to blame this on Loralu, but she merely provided some inspirational photographs. The rest of it... all me...

The time frame is Ginny's first professional Quidditch game with the Harpies.

*****

The referee allowed Ginny two minutes to warm up. She didn't hear the murmurs of surprise coming from the crowd. She did hear the whoops of glee from her brothers. Reserve Chasers didn't normally come in as Seekers, but Gwenog had stared her in the eye and made a small gesture with her head, as if to say, 'Can you do it?' Ginny felt her stomach flip, but she nodded. Gwenog had made her play every position at least once during practices. If anything, Gwenog loved a team with versatility. Most of them could play at least one other position passably, if not well.

Ginny swooped by the family box and slowed enough to toss a cheeky grin to Harry and give her parents and brothers a small wave. Molly looked anxious, but attempted to smile at her, while Arthur beamed proudly, returning her wave enthusiastically. Harry… Harry's gaze was something altogether different. He nodded with approval and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on, but the referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of her warm-up, and Ginny sighed with no small regret and directed her broom toward the ground.

She landed next to her teammates, huddled together on the pitch. 'Caerphilly's Seeker isn't very aggressive,' Marion, one of the Chasers murmured. 'She was in a bad crash a few months ago and hasn't quite gotten her nerve back yet.'

'Nobody's asking you to knock her off her broom,' Gwenog said swiftly, giving Marion a censorious glare.

'Well, of course not,' chuckled Caroline, the Keeper. 'But you can use it to your advantage,' she told Ginny. 'Their Seeker gets a bit spooked if anyone's flying too close.'

Gwenog studied Caerphilly's team for a moment. 'I think she might get pulled soon,' she mused. 'In that case, their Reserve Seeker's fair, but…' She trailed off.

'He's all right,' interjected Mandy, one of the Beaters. 'Been on the Reserve squad for ages, hasn't he?'

Helen, the other Beater snickered. 'He's too slow,' she scoffed. 'But it's not his fault,' she said mockingly.

'Never is,' sighed Anna, the third Chaser. 'Mind yourself if they put him in the game,' she warned Ginny. 'He's not above shoving you off your broom, or leading you into a chase that'll put you in the path of a Bludger.'

'He ought to play for Falmouth, but he isn't good enough,' Mandy added.

The shrill whistle of the referee pierced their ears. 'Time's up,' he said and threw the Quaffle into the air.

Ginny launched herself into the skies, filled with exhilaration. She flew over the pitch, her plait flying behind her, robes billowing with the autumn breeze. She paused for a moment, scanning for the Snitch. _Is that it?_ she wondered, seeing a glint of gold. Directing her broom into a steep dive, she zoomed toward it, coming close, but not dangerously so, to the Caerphilly Seeker. The woman shrieked and nearly fell off her broom. She clutched at it, but her fingers closed on the empty space in front of the handle, and she went hurtling toward the grass below them. The referee pointed his wand at her, slowing her motion, until she landed gently on the pitch. There was a heated discussion between the Seeker and her captain that culminated in the Seeker flouncing off the pitch past a man standing hopefully with his broom. The referee blew his whistle and announced a player change.

They allowed him a few minutes to warm up, as they had for Ginny, then the game resumed. Ginny began to fly in random patterns over the pitch, her eyes darting around the other players, dodging the Chasers and Beaters, keeping a corner of her attention constantly on the opposing Seeker, all the while searching… constantly searching for a glint of silver or gold in the sunlight. She sensed, rather than saw, the Caerphilly Seeker's striped bright green and scarlet robes in her peripheral vision. He swooped in Ginny's direction, but she hooked an ankle around the broom and tilted over in a sloth roll, avoiding being knocked off her broom. She threw him an indignant glare, then pulled her broom up into a loop that put her behind him. She continued to zigzag around the pitch, scanning for the Snitch, diving or streaking toward it. She had only a vague idea of what the score happened to be, and didn't hear the roar of the spectators at all. Her world had narrowed to the desperate, silent struggle to catch the Snitch before the other Seeker did. She traded shove for shove with him, knocking his grasping hand away from her.

Suddenly, Ginny shot straight up, kicking at the other Seeker's hands as they tried to grab her broom. She pried one hand off the handle and her hand closed around the Snitch, its fluttering wings sending vibrations through her arm. Ginny howled in triumph, drifting toward the ground, the wings protruding through her clenched fingers. She stood in the center of the pitch, her fist thrust over her head, searching the family box for Harry, calculating how long it would take the two of them to extricate themselves from the rest of the family and make their way back to her tiny flat in Holyhead.

Ginny was soon inundated by her teammates, an eddy of stillness in the jostling tumble of dark-green robes. 'Press'll want to talk to you,' Gwenog rasped over the gleeful shouts of the team.

'Why?' Ginny asked.

'How often does a Reserve Chaser come in as a Seeker and win?' Gwenog chuckled. 'Come on.' She led Ginny to the area in front of the Harpies changing rooms where a boisterous group of people already waited. Harry stood to one side, leaning with studied casualness against the wall, eyeing the press with a wary expression. Ginny darted to him, beaming, with the same hard light in her eyes that he had seen as she ran at him across the common room after she helped Gryffindor win the Quidditch Cup her fifth year.

'Where are the others?' she asked, searching the area behind him.

'Charlie's taken them to a pub for dinner,' he murmured. 'I've been sent to take you over after you're done here.'

A slow smile spread over Ginny's face. 'Brilliant.'

It was only the buzz of the people and the flashes of light from cameras behind them that prevented Ginny from leaping into Harry's arms. 'Miss Weasley! Miss Weasley!' one of the reporters shouted.

Ginny squeezed Harry's hand and rose on her toes, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 'Don't go anywhere,' she ordered, allowing the hand that wasn't in view of the reporters to roam familiarly over his bum. She gave it a surreptitious squeeze before she turned to the phalanx of waiting reporters. Harry's eyes widened in surprise. While it was true he and Ginny occasionally engaged in public displays of affection, they had never been quite so brazen.

Harry resumed his nonchalant pose against the side of the building that housed the Captain's office, players' lounge, and changing room and let his attention focus on Ginny. She had pulled the outer robes off in deference to the unseasonable September warmth and chatted amiably with the reporters. His eyes traveled slowly down to her toes and back up. School Quidditch uniforms were made in general sizes and students hoped they could find one that didn't make them feel as if they were drowning in it. The one she wore now seemed as if it had been made specifically for her. Every curve was visible, outlined in the deep green of the jumper and tightly-fitted tan trousers. Her cheeks were flushed with the pleasure of winning the game.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he sidled closer to Ginny, scowling slightly at the male reporters. He could see them eyeing Ginny. She was oblivious to it, of course. She wasn't meant to see the quick once-over they gave her. Harry knew that trick. He's used it himself on several occasions. He saw one of the photographers give Ginny an appreciative glance, lingering over her bottom. Harry quietly moved nearer to the man and let his scowl deepen while he conspicuously cleared his throat, uncrossing his arms to shake his wand into his hand from the holster hidden in his shirt sleeve. The photographer's gaze swiveled toward Harry, then immediately dropped to his camera, fiddling with a few buttons and switches. _Yeah, that's right,_ Harry thought with a smirk. _I could hex you into next week without thinking about it._ He caught Ginny's eyes and smiled at her. She grinned impishly at him, tossing the end of her plait over her shoulder.

Ginny's toes curled inside her boots. She could see Harry from the corner of her eye, glowering at the poor photographer. It nearly made her laugh out loud, but she contented herself with grin, lifting the heavy plait off the back of her neck, tilting her head slightly to one side, exposing her neck in veiled invitation. Harry loved to nibble the skin just under her ear. Winning Quidditch games always made her feel giddy, but winning this one had aroused her nearly to the point of incoherent thought. She was amazed she could still answer the reporters' questions and smile for the cameras when all she wanted to do was drag Harry back to her flat and have her way with him. She could see Harry, making his way around the edge of the group of reporters, pacing slowly, as if he were stalking his prey. _He is…_ she chuckled to herself.

Gwenog stepped in front of Ginny. 'All right, that's enough. Let the heroine of the day go celebrate.' She gently pushed Ginny toward the building. Ginny headed for the door, and deliberately met Harry's gaze, tilting her head in the direction of the building. Harry immediately took a few steps forward, but hesitated, eyes flicking toward the mass of reporters. Ginny subtly gestured once more for him to join her, a coy smile spreading over her face. Harry glanced at the reporters and once he was assured they weren't paying him the slightest bit of attention, quickly slipped inside the building after Ginny.

Ginny turned to him as soon as the door closed behind them, and wound her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down, pressing her lips to his, her teeth gently closing on his lower lip before she deepened the kiss. The kiss broke and Harry breathed, 'Blimey… What brought that on?'

'Winning,' Ginny told him, as she began to work his jacket down his arms.

Harry chuckled against her mouth and returned the kiss. 'Winning is good.'

'So is this,' Ginny murmured, shoving the jacket to the floor and attacking the buttons of his shirt, pulling the tails from his trousers.

'What are you doing?' Harry whispered, scandalized.

Ginny looked up at him, panting, her eyes glazed with something between love and lust. 'Please,' she said quietly. 'I want… I need to…' She slid a button through the buttonhole. 'I need you,' she breathed.

Harry let his hands rest on either side of her waist, fingers splayed over the curve of her hips. His head jerked back toward the door. 'Anyone could walk in,' he muttered uncertainly.

Ginny's smile turned alluringly wicked. 'I know.'

Harry's eyes widened. 'Oh…'

'Come on, Harry…' Ginny tugged at his hand, leading him into the changing room. She stopped at her locker and slipped something into the pocket of her trousers, then continued into the steamy tiled bathroom. Shower cubicles lined one wall. Their frosted glass doors hung ajar, indicating they were vacant. Ginny unlaced her boots and kicked them off, peeling the thick socks away and tossing them into the laundry bin in the corner. She took the hem of her jumper in her hands and pulled it over her head, then reached into the pocket of her trousers, putting the square foil packet between her teeth. Her trousers joined the jumper on the floor and she stood in front of Harry, clad only in matching dark green knickers and a bra, trimmed in gold.

'Even your knickers match the team uniform?' he blurted. 'Bloody hell…'

Ginny just winked and reached for the buttons of his shirt, unfastening the rest of them. She yanked the shirt off his arms and threw it to the floor and began to work on his trousers, her movements growing increasingly frantic. Especially once she felt Harry's teeth begin to nibble the skin behind her ear. His hands batted her fumbling ones away from his zipper, and he roughly shoved his trousers to the floor, growling with frustration when they caught on his shoes. He impatiently toed his shoes off and jerked his trousers off, taking the socks with them. Ginny backed into a cubicle, towing Harry after her. She twisted the tap, sending hot water flowing over them both. Harry firmly shut the door behind them and pulled the foil square from Ginny's teeth.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his sodden boxers and pushed them down his legs to land at his feet with a _splat_. Harry reached behind Ginny and deftly unhooked her bra with one hand and she let it fall to the floor, gasping involuntarily as Harry's teeth closed around her nipple. His hand slid over her stomach and to her back, gliding into the back of her knickers, fingers curving over her bottom, slowly working them over her hips and down her thighs, his fingers dipping briefly between them, eliciting another startled gasp from Ginny.

Eyes narrowed, Ginny took the condom back from Harry, ripping it open with her teeth, and quickly smoothing it over his erection. Harry considered lifting her, and taking her standing upright, but his feet slid a little on the slippery tiles. Instead, he grabbed one of Ginny's arms and turned her around, so she faced the wall. He laced his fingers through hers and bent her forward slightly, sliding into her with a grunt. Ginny nearly cried out, her nails digging into her palms. One of Harry's arms wound around her waist, his chest pressed against her back. Ginny pulled her hands from Harry's grasp and braced them against the wall, arching her back. Every thrust made her moan, the soft mews echoing off the walls. She threw her head back as tremors rippled over her, hushed keens reverberating around them. Harry's arm convulsed around her waist as he climaxed. He let his head fall to her shoulder, breathing harshly. He took a few steps backward until his back hit the opposite wall, and he slid to the floor, taking Ginny with him.

Ginny's head rested against his shoulder and she tilted her face toward the shower spray. 'You need to come to all my games…' she breathed weakly.


	2. Forgiveness

_A/N: I had intended __Changing Room__ to be a one-shot, but given my proclivity for allowing the characters of the HP-verse to do inappropriate things in inappropriate places, I was bound to think of a few other situations. *blush* _

_*koff* Merry Christmas. _

xxxxxx

Tonks restlessly kicked the confining sheet away from her body. She was hot and cranky and immensely tired of being cooped up in the house. She was especially weary of the tension building between her mother and her husband in the past two weeks. It didn't help her hormones were raging so that she felt out of control and cursed herself. She'd asked Remus to come back, but had yet to forgive him for leaving. So he slept in the spare bedroom in deference to her wishes. She mentally kicked herself for that. Tonks glared at the window she couldn't open – correction – wasn't allowed to open lest a stray Death Eater swoop in a kidnap her – and cast yet another Cooling charm on the stifling bedroom. She sighed and swung her feet heavily to the floor as her body demanded the loo once more. The miracle of life someone had called it. _Miracle my arse_, the Auror snorted to herself. _It'll be a bloody miracle if I manage the next three and a half months without strangling someone with my bare hands._ She soundly closed the bathroom door, not caring if she woke the rest of the house. Sweat pooled between her breasts and trickled down under the Weird Sisters t-shirt she wore, stretched tightly over her swollen abdomen. Immediate needs seen to, Tonks plucked a facecloth from a shelf and soaked it in cold water, then cast Freezing charm after Freezing charm until it fairly crackled in her hand. She passed it over her face and neck, dipping it briefly under the faded t-shirt.

It wasn't just the sense of feeling overheated in the small house that made her so edgy. Nor was it her mother's need to silently judge Remus, although that didn't help matters much. She missed her father. Christmas didn't quite feel the same without him there singing carols as he puttered around the house, putting up innumerable paper chains, piling crackers on every horizontal surface, decorating their tree with so many different colors and styles of ornaments it bordered on garish. But she loved it. The tree was more sedate this year. Tasteful, her mother would say. But Andromeda had, in a fit of sentimentality, strung strand after strand of fairy lights on the branches. The way Ted had always done.

Tonks eased the bathroom door open, and peered into the corridor. Her parents' bedroom door was closed, but a light shone under the crack of the spare bedroom. Remus would still be awake, plotting something for the Order, hunched over the small wireless, trying to find a Potterwatch broadcast, reading, or writing in his journal. She marveled that he could still function on as little sleep as he got. She tiptoed down the stairs, only stubbing her toes once and found the plug for the fairy lights and shoved it into an outlet. Using the arm of the sofa for support, she eased down to the floor and Summoned a small throw pillow from an overstuffed armchair and dropped it just under the tree. She carefully maneuvered her body until she was on her back, head cushioned by the throw pillow, knees bent, feet planted on the rug. Tonks stared into the twinkling lights until her eyes blurred.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. None of it was.

xxxxxx

Remus threaded a hand through his hair as he glanced at the gently ticking alarm clock. Tonks ought to have returned to her bedroom by now. She'd been downstairs for over an hour. He marked his place with an old quill and set the book aside, extinguishing the lamp with a careless wave of his wand. He opened the door and slid across the corridor, peeking into Tonks' bedroom. The unoccupied bed was wildly rumpled and mussed and an underlying tang melted on his tongue as he scented the heavy, musky air. It was a scent he recognized and his body twitched in response. Softly glowing light tickled at the perimeter of his bare feet and he followed it down the stairs, coming to a most abrupt stop at the bottom of the stairs with a very undignified squeak. He wasn't so addlepated by the rather fetching display to mistake her pose for anything other than its physical comfort to her. However, Remus was a man after all, and the sight of her sprawled on the floor was enough to send the blood racing from his head. A handbreadth of taut skin was visible between the hem of the t-shirt and the waistband of her pajama bottoms. Inasmuch as he had mixed feelings about the two of them bringing a baby into such an uncertain world, part of him wanted to strut with illogical pride at the sight of the rolling swell of their child. The other part still struggled to accept the ramifications of his marriage and the uncertainty with which he faced becoming a father.

Remus had nearly made up his mind to return to his cold, solitary bed when he heard a soft sniffle waft from under the tree. He propelled himself across the room, nearly skidding to a stop on his knees. Her tears always tore at his heart and this time was no different. He reached up to brush them away from her face. 'Dora…'

Tonks' gaze shifted from the tree overhead to Remus, crouched next to her. His hand was warm against the cool wetness of her cheek. Her hips shifted involuntarily while one hand wrapped around his wrist, bringing the palm of his hand to her lips. Without pausing to think, her tongue flicked over the callused skin, darting between his fingers before she gave him a thorough demonstration of what she could do to other areas of his body.

'Nymphadora…' he breathed. Was it a warning or a supplication? She didn't care. And she suspected he didn't either. She pulled her heels closer to her body and her thighs splayed apart. Remus' entire body convulsed in a shudder. 'Oh, dear God… Dora…'

Tonks reversed their positions with a rapidity that belied her self-effacing comments about her stealth abilities and was surprising for one nearly six months gone with child. She straddled his hips, hands clamped around his wrists effectively pinning him to the floor. Remus tugged experimentally at her grip. It wasn't so strong that he couldn't twist his wrists from her grasp, but forceful enough to give him a sensation of helplessness. She let go long enough to tug the t-shirt over her head and discard it by tossing it across the sitting room. Remus made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat. She had always been pleasantly rounded where a woman should be, but now she was a series of lush curves. He cupped her breasts in his hands, entranced. They were noticeably heavier than they had been four months ago. He lifted his head, mouth opened slightly, intending to do more than merely look at her. He wanted to lick and suckle the expanse of flesh on display. 'Did I say you could touch me?' Tonks asked archly.

'Wha…?' Remus stilled, palms rasping over the pebbled nipples.

Tonks leaned into the caress for a moment, before she resolutely pulled his hands away and pinned them back over his head. Remus could nearly see the heat waves radiating from her skin. Her breasts and abdomen pressed into his torso. She was so warm, but inexplicable gooseflesh rippled over her arms and shoulders. 'Did I say you could touch me?' she asked again, in whiplash of a whisper.

'N-n-n-noooo,' Remus stammered. He heard a faint _creak_ overhead. 'Dora, your mother…' he protested weakly.

'I don't recall telling you to speak.' Tonks paused. 'Do you?'

Remus opened his mouth to say "no", but mutely shook his head. _What is she playing at?_

Satisfied, Tonks sat up. Her hips rotated in a slow circle, a smirk spreading over her face at Remus' unsuccessful attempt at biting back a moan. She carefully rearranged her position and hooked her fingers into the waistband of the thin cotton pajama bottoms and slid them to her ankles, then kicked them off. Smugly, she noted how Remus' fingers had begun to dig into the nap of the rug, but he kept his arms spread away from his body. And hers. She flicked his worn t-shirt. 'Take it off.' Remus obeyed, realization dawning as she raked her nails over his chest. It wasn't so much sex she was after.

She wanted revenge.

He didn't blame her, really. He would have done the same, had their positions been reversed, and she'd left him at a vulnerable juncture of their lives. He warily watched her as he dropped the shirt to the side and slowly lowered his arms.

Tonks leaned forward, bracing her hands on either side of Remus' head. Her lips grazed over his then trailed down his neck, seeking out the sensitive spot just above his collarbone. She smiled in triumph as he gasped when she gave him a hard, sucking kiss at the base of his neck. His pulse jumped under her lips and Tonks growled softly, moving lower. She glanced up from her ministrations and chuckled. His lips moved, but no sound came from his mouth. His eyes were wide open, fixed on a blown-glass ornament dangling over his head. She propped her head on his stomach, fingers revisiting the places she'd so recently explored with her mouth, watching him for several moments, immensely gratified Auror training including leaning to lip-read.

_Oh my God… Please…_ Over and over again.

Tonks smirked once more, and nuzzled the whorl of tawny hair that dove from his navel. She was rewarded with a muffled curse. Clucking in disapproval, she drew back slightly. Remus lifted his head and attempted to scowl at her, but the effect was quite spoilt by the desperate longing lurking in his eyes. In return, she merely smiled at him. But it wasn't a smile Remus had ever seen grace her features. She was toying with him. He pressed his trembling hands to the rug, resuming his silent prayer. Presently, he felt her mouth begin its leisurely journey toward the straining front of his pajamas. She bypassed it completely, and Remus groaned in dismay. He worried his lower lip between his teeth, fervently wishing she would just have her way with him and end this torture, delightful as it was. _Delightful torture…_ he mused with the part of his brain that could form coherent thought. _A fine example of an oxymoron…_

Tonks contemplated the faded plaid flannel under her hands and gathered the fabric in her hands and pulled. Remus lifted his hips and she gently worked them over his hips and down his legs throwing them aside. She sat back on her heels, studying her husband. He was no longer looking at the ornament, but at her, in obvious lust, breath whistling through his partially-open mouth. The back of one hand glided up the inside of one leg. His mouth closed with a soft _snap_ and his breathing grew more labored and her hand closed around him. Was she wrong to subject him to this? Perhaps. It wasn't physical release she sought, although it was one of her goals. She wanted him to admit he needed her, just as much as she needed him. She wanted him to feel every ache she had during those long weeks when he was gone.

Her body screamed for the release she had denied it while she teased Remus. Again, moving much more quickly than he could believe, Tonks straddled Remus' hips. She shook with the effort it took to not have him in a blind frenzy, using one hand for balance and the other to guide him into her. Her nails dug into the flesh above his jutting hipbones. It didn't take long. For her. As for Remus, she drove him to the brink again and again, highlighted by the nearly soundless moans and soft breathing that was no less harsh for it. Each time he came close to climaxing, she withdrew a little and stilled, her hands and lips dancing over his face and body.

Tonks' lips hovered over his. A sheen of sweat on both their faces glinted in the glow from the fairy lights. She dipped her head ever so slightly to soothe his swollen mouth in a gesture that was heartbreakingly tender. His lower lip stung where he'd bitten it earlier.

'Nymphadora,' he implored, mouth moving silently against hers. 'Please…'

Tonks pushed up, her hands slipping slightly against his damp chest. 'Please what?' She could feel the fine tremors that ran through his body.

'I need…' Remus swallowed heavily, licking dry lips. 'I need to touch you. To talk to you.' He watched her carefully. She made no move to stop his speech. Encouraged, he continued, one hand drifting up to rest on the swell of her hip, then splay over the curve of their child between them. The other hand tangled in her hair and brought her mouth back to his. 'I need… You. The both of you,' he added, stroking her swollen abdomen. 'I need something worth fighting to preserve.' He closed his eyes.

Tonks shuddered and began to move, slowly, almost delicately, blue eyes softening and blurring. They began to close in sheer bliss when Remus hissed in her ear, 'Look at me.' Startled, her eyes flew open, and she met the stormy grey gaze, as he began to match her movements, both hands gripping her hips. He didn't quicken the pace she'd set or make an attempt to guide her motion, but it was no longer a contest of wills, rather a meeting of equals. Remus muffled the shout of his release against her neck, then held Tonks as hers rippled through her body, more than a little amused. Neither one of them had ever raised their voice above a whisper the entire time. His hand swept her hair from her face, and he met her heavy-lidded eyes. 'I am sorry,' he murmured.

Tonks nodded and slowly, languorously, slid to the floor next to him. 'So am I.'


	3. Viola venia

Neville perched on a tall stool at one end of the bar in the Leaky Cauldron, nursing a pint of bitter, waiting for Hannah. She stood at the opposite end, putting the finishing touches on next week's schedule. She twirled a lock of her straight, blonde hair around a finger, while she muttered to herself. Her nose scrunched in distaste over something, and she hastily scratched out something she'd just written. This was a routine developed over the past six months. Several nights a week, he dashed home from his job at St. Mungo's greenhouses, scrubbed away the sweat, potting soil, and dragon dung fertilizer, dressed in clothes his grandmother insisted on pressing, then met Hannah. More of then than not, they retreated to her small flat over the public room with their meals on a tray. They talked, explored London, or stayed in her flat doing quite a bit more than talking. Last night had been such a night when they let their hands and mouths say what neither of them was quite ready to put into words.

However, she wanted more. It was becoming glaringly obvious.

Neville forced himself to look away from Hannah glanced down at his hands picking at the potting soil that he couldn't quite get out of his cuticles. His grandmother badgered him incessantly to let her manicure his hands before he met Hannah, privately he felt only truly swotty men got manicures. He liked Hannah a great deal. Especially since his grandmother had ceased her efforts to push them together.

'I'm done,' Hannah said with a tired sigh. 'Sorry. I didn't think it was going to take that long. Tamsin's quit without so much as a Bob's-your-uncle and it was a scramble to cover her shifts next week.'

'I can go home.'

'Don't you dare!' Hannah said fiercely. 'I've been looking forward to this all day.' She tugged at Neville's hand until he slid off the stool and followed her up the dark stairs. Hannah's flat was an oasis of light and color in the otherwise dingy confines of the Leaky Cauldron. The only thing it was missing was plants and flowers. He hoped to remedy that soon. 'Just let me have a quick wash,' she told him. 'I had to clean the rooms she was assigned, and doing it with magic doesn't mean dust doesn't fly about everywhere.' She gently pushed him toward the small sofa and disappeared into the bedroom.

Neville resolutely turned away from the partially-opened bedroom door and jammed his hands into his pockets. He didn't want her to accuse him of being some sort of pervert. Although, he desperately wanted to peer around the edge of that door. But no. He'd been down that road in the months after the war when girls threw themselves at him. They didn't want to know about him or how he had converted the large bay windows of his bedroom into miniature greenhouses and grew all sorts of plants and herbs there. They just wanted the hero. And he'd been content with that, then. Satisfied with the temporal nature of the encounters where he needn't think about what might happen in five minutes. He could just feel. Until the day came when he slipped from the bed of a woman who'd been in a seventh year his first year. She'd purred with delight when she had seemingly bumped into him in Diagon Alley, exclaiming how she barely recognized him, how he'd grown into such a handsome, strapping young man. The next morning, as he quietly dressed in the purple gloaming before dawn, he couldn't remember her name.

By no means had Neville been indiscriminate or indiscreet. He'd only slept with girls he knew until that last one. Girls he saw casually with little or no commitment beyond the night. In fact, he could still count the number of girls he'd been with on both hands. Hannah was different. She was the type of girl that needed commitment. That wasn't the problem. Neville was willing to give her that. He just wasn't quite sure if she wanted commitment from him. He was certain his reputation preceded him. His grandmother had several choice terms for men who flitted from one girl to the next. Not the he had ever publicly given her a reason to call him any of them, but still…

'Knut for your thoughts?'

Neville turned halfway. Hannah stood just outside her bedroom door, dressed in a clean skirt and shirt. She favored skirts, he had noticed, when the weather was warm. 'They're not worth that much,' he said with a deprecating smile, trying to avoid the line of her shin exposed by the swinging hem of the skirt.

'I don't know about you, but I'm starved,' Hannah commented, moving toward the small, round table set near a window, already laden with their dinner.

Neville took the chair opposite hers and laid the serviette over his lap. 'My birthday's next week,' he began. 'And my grandmother and Great-Uncle Algie and Great-Auntie Enid are having a special dinner for it, and Gran thought you might want to come…'

'That sounds like it would be lovely.'

Neville inhaled a pea. He began to simultaneously cough and question Hannah's sanity. Spending the evening with his grandmother and her brother and sister-in-law was hardly his idea of a lovely time. 'Really?' he croaked, eyes streaming.

'Yes.'

'Well, that settles it,' Neville declared.

'What does?'

'You're mad.'

'Excuse me?'

Neville pointed his fork at Hannah. 'No twenty year-old woman in her right mind thinks spending an evening with her… friend's… elderly relations is a lovely time.'

'It is if I get to spend it with you.'

Neville felt his stomach drop. _Oh blimey… You're in for it now, chum…_

Dinner eaten, and dishes magicked back into the kitchen, Neville found himself sprawled over the sofa, Hannah straddling him, her skirt hiked halfway up her thighs. Her hands danced over the buttons over his shirt, flicking them through the buttonholes, one by one, until she could spread his shirt apart and glide her hands over the bared skin. Neville grasped the hem of her shirt in both hands, ready to draw it over her head, but he paused. Hannah could feel his hesitation. She sat up looking down at him. 'What is it?'

Neville swallowed heavily. _Not until I know how she feels…_ He met Hannah's puzzled gaze and the words stuck in his throat. 'I ought to go home,' he mumbled, pulling the edges of his shirt together and swiftly buttoning it. 'Early start tomorrow…'

xxxxxx

Hannah burst into the flat Ginny shared with Harry. 'What the bloody hell am I doing wrong?'

Hermione looked up from the toenails she was painstakingly varnishing. 'Offhand, I'd say you might want to keep your arms in while you Floo, but other than that…'

'That's not what I mean…' Hannah groaned. 'It's Neville…'

Ginny handed Hannah a cold butterbeer. 'What's wrong with Neville?'

'Six months… Six months of hand holding, snogging… And absolutely nothing.' Hannah drooped dejectedly. 'And I've discovered cold showers only go so far, and I'm all for sisters doing it for themselves, but it's just not the same…'

'What do you want to happen?' Hermione asked blankly. Hannah shot her a look of disbelief. 'Oh… Ohhhhhh. You and Neville haven't…' Hermione made a vague gesture with her hand.

'No,' Hannah snuffled. 'I've all but bloody spelled it out for him. It's like he can't read the signals.'

Luna's head came up and she stared at Hannah. 'Really? Neville…?' she blurted in bemusement. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and began to idly plait it loosely. 'It wasn't a problem when we…' She noticed the astonished looks the other three women gave her. 'What?'

'You and Neville…' Ginny trailed off and repeated Hermione's vague gesture.

'Yes.' Luna's blunt honesty sent a wave of nausea through Hannah. 'It was just after the war and he and I were talking one afternoon, and he mentioned how girls kept making advances. Older girls. And we both wondered what the fuss was about. So we...' She shrugged expansively. 'It was only the one time.'

Hannah's fingers burrowed into her hair. 'Let me get this straight… You and Neville shagged, and neither of you breathed a word about it?'

'Nobody ever asked,' Luna remarked airily. 'And it really wasn't anyone's business, aside from mine and Neville's.'

Hannah felt the prickle of frustrated tears rush to her eyes. 'Shite.'

'Maybe you ought to talk to Neville,' Ginny advised.

'Says the married woman,' Hannah grumbled. She couldn't help but ask Luna, 'What was it like?'

Luna gravely considered the question. 'Very nice.'

'I don't think I'll like the answer to this, but why do you think he won't do anything more with me?' Hannah held her breath.

'I think it's because he likes you.'

'That doesn't make sense. If he likes me, then why is he always finding some excuse to run off?' Hannah argued.

Luna nodded vigorously. 'It does. He respects you. Although he was quite respectful with me, but he doesn't like me nearly as much as he does you.'

Ginny nudged Hermione, tilting her head toward the kitchen, widening her eyes. If there was a time for Hannah and Luna to have a bit of privacy, now was it. Hermione's eyes darted from Ginny to Hannah and Luna before mouthing, 'Fine,' at Ginny and carefully minced across the floor to avoid smudging the varnish on her toes. Neither Hannah, nor Luna noticed they were gone.

Luna stretched her feet out in front of her, wriggling her toes. 'How do you feel about Neville?' she asked.

Hannah's mouth worked for a moment. 'I hadn't really… I hadn't thought about it.' In truth, she hadn't needed to think. She could care less about plants, but Neville lit up when he talked about his work, and she loved his enthusiasm. Of all her friends, he hadn't judged her in the slightest for taking over the Leaky Cauldron for Tom. He encouraged her to spruce it up a bit, and thanks to Neville's efforts, fresh flowers dotted the tables and overflowed from window boxes on the Diagon Alley side. Certainly, they had their fair share of compromises and concessions in the months since they began dating, but Hannah had noticed she didn't mind giving up ground to Neville when he was willing to relinquish things for her. It all felt too easy, which contributed to her ambivalence where Neville was concerned. Relationships needed work to make them successful, and with Neville, it hardly qualified as exertion at all. 'I think… No. I like him very much.'

'I think Neville might need to hear that,' Luna told her. 'He's a very soft-hearted and sometimes insecure person under all that dragon dung fertilizer.'

xxxxxx

Harry tapped the bottle of beer with his wand and tossed the cap into the center of the table. 'Thank Merlin the two of you didn't have plans tonight,' he sighed.

'What are they doing at your flat?' Ron asked, a dubious frown falling over his face.

'Dunno,' Harry said, taking a swig of his beer. 'I was informed I could stay, but I'd have to stay in the bedroom. And was told in no uncertain terms whatever chocolate-laden thing Gin had in the kitchen was entirely off limits.' He took a large bite of his sandwich. 'I was also told there would be massive amounts of girl talk and nail varnish.'

'Oh yeah. That was a difficult decision,' Neville hooted. He found himself staring at Harry's left hand. It was still odd to see Harry with a wedding band, even after nearly a year of marriage. It seemed to agree with him, though. And Ron had settled a great deal since he and Hermione finally embarked on their relationship. Neville felt they perhaps had more insight into women, given their respective situations. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Sure.' Ron lifted the edge of the bread on his sandwich and inspected its construction.

'Did your past with girls have an effect on your relationships with Ginny and Hermione?'

'What past?' Harry snorted. 'One date with one girl is hardly something to get into a fuss over.'

Ron ran a hand through his hair. 'A bit,' he allowed. 'Not much. I was more fussed about it than she was. I guess I was more embarrassed by it.' His lip curled a little in distaste. 'Mostly because she wanted to know just what had gone on, and that was something I'd rather not have thought about.' He glanced at Neville. 'Nothing happened,' he added hastily.

Neville chuckled as he recalled Ron's rather excellent imitation of a climbing vine when in Lavender Brown's company during their sixth year. 'Yeah, that would be embarrassing…'

Harry cradled his beer between his hands. 'Why do you ask?'

Neville had to restrain himself from squirming. 'Hannah keeps throwing herself at me…'

Ron choked. 'Hannah? Hannah Abbot? With the cheeks and the hair?'

Neville nodded miserably. 'She's been dropping hints for a few weeks now. They're not subtle, either.'

'And this bothers you?' Harry asked quietly.

'Honestly? No.' Neville slumped back in his chair. 'It's just… I want what you two have.'

Ron's mobile face stilled. 'You think she might be the "one"?'

Neville shrugged stiffly. 'I don't know. But if I'm going to sleep with her – and I do want to, and not just because it's been ages – I want to know she wants _me_ and she's not using me.' He swigged his beer. 'Because I'm sure she's, ah, _aware_ of my reputation…'

Ron regarded Neville soberly for a moment. 'That's sensible. You were a bit of a man-whore for a while there.'

Neville's head snapped up. 'I was not!' he protested.

Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'You kind of were.'

'It's not as if I was shagging my way through Diagon Alley!'

'I'll grant you that one,' Ron allowed. 'But when you work behind the counter of a shop, people tend to talk to their mates about their personal lives as if you can't hear them. And there was that incident where two girls from George's year found out they'd both had you within weeks of one another and bloody near hexed each other near the Wonder Witch section.'

Neville's shoulders hunched a little. 'That's what I want to avoid…'

Harry's brow furrowed. 'Has she brought up your… past… at all?'

'No. We agreed we'd put the brakes on after we'd been on a few dates.'

Nodding, Harry leaned back in his chair. 'So she doesn't care?'

'I guess…'

'Tell her she's different from the others,' Harry stated. 'See how that goes. And as painful as it might be, honesty's your best bet.'

'He's right,' Ron added.

Neville felt his face pale slightly. There was one way he knew how to tell Hannah how he did feel about her. Unfortunately, if it backfired, it would make him look more than a little foolish.

xxxxxx

Neville checked his hair one last time in the mirror, and straightened his knitted waistcoat once again. He'd seen Hannah open the garden gate from his bedroom window and rushed downstairs to intercept her before his grandmother could. She barely knocked once before Neville yanked the door open. She wore a dress – sleeveless – with a slightly flared skirt and a brightly colored wrap around her shoulders. Her hair was twisted up high on the back of her head. He was disappointed in that. He loved her hair loose around her shoulders. 'Happy birthday,' she said breathlessly.

'Thanks.' Neville stood back and gestured for Hannah to come inside. 'You're a little early.'

'Horrible habit of mine,' Hannah said with a smile. 'I've been trying for ages to be fashionably late to events.'

'Want a tour of the house?'

'Sure.' Hannah slid her hand into the crook of Neville's elbow. 'I love old houses like this.'

Neville glanced around at the rambling old house. It was drafty in the winter, constantly damp, but he had the entire second floor to himself. As a child, it had been lonely, but as an adult, he appreciated the privacy. 'It's all right.' He pointed through the sitting room. 'Kitchen's through there…' As he towed her up the stairs, he gestured left, then right. 'Gran's room is down there, Uncle Algie and Auntie Enid's is that way…'

'Is this the five Knut tour?' Hannah asked, bemused.

'Yes.' Neville stopped awkwardly outside his bedroom door. 'I'd like to show you something…' He opened the door and ushered Hannah inside with a gentle hand in the small of her back. The corner of Hannah's mouth tipped up as she prodded a collection of glowing red Rememberalls. A small wooden box sat on the corner of his desk. Curiously, Hannah lifted the lid and bit her lip as she surveyed the contents. It was filled to overflowing with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrappers. It looked as if he'd saved every single one his mother gave him. She carefully replaced the lid and reached back to take Neville's hand in hers. He guided her toward one of the large bay windows he'd converted into greenhouses and opened the small glass door with his free hand.

'Are those violets?' Hannah asked, stepping closer.

'They are.'

'But they're yellow.'

Neville nodded. 'There are breeds of yellow violets.' He reached out and plucked one and held it out to Hannah. 'I managed to crossbreed a yellow violet with a sweet violet. It's got the yellow petals, but the scent of the other.'

Hannah brought it to her nose, inhaling the sweet, light fragrance. 'It's lovely.'

'It's a new breed… _Viola venia_.' He paused. 'Hannah's violet.' Neville cleared his throat. 'Venia means grace or virtue, and that's what your name means…' He swallowed heavily. His throat felt tight. 'I thought of you when it bloomed. See? It's yellow, with those deep purple streaks around the center… Hufflepuff colors… And it smells like that violet perfume you always wear…' He trailed off embarrassed. 'And you're the only person I've ever wanted to do something like this for…'

Hannah didn't trust herself to speak. She wound her arms around Neville's neck and gently kissed him. Her fingers skimmed so lightly over the planes of Neville's face. She didn't have to think about the words that rose to her lips. 'I love you.'

Neville's arms wrapped around her waist and he lifted her off her feet. He stumbled backward, landing on the window seat left in the bay window. Surrounded by the blaze of golden violets, Hannah's legs wrapped around his waist, and Neville finally allowed his hands to wander where they might. His hand hesitated momentarily on the inside of one knee, exposed by the rucked-up hem of her dress. She firmly laid a hand on his and nudged his hand a little higher on her thigh. Obligingly, he slid his hand higher, until it disappeared beneath her skirt. Her legs tightened around his waist and her fingers dug into the muscles of his back. Neville's back arched and his hips tilted upward to meet Hannah's. Her hips rotated in a slow circle, making Neville bite back a groan. Her hand dropped between them and landed on the buckle of his belt. 'Are you sure?' Neville asked with a gasp.

'I'm sure.'

Hands tangled together to unzip and push just enough clothing out of the way. 'Wait!' Neville hissed, scrabbling for his wand. The handle slipped in his hand as he aimed it at himself, then Hannah, growling a muttered incantation. Both of them protected as well as magic could make them, Neville's mouth formed a perfect O as Hannah shifted, guiding him into her.

'Neville! Neville!' Augusta Longbottom's voice drifted through the open windows from the garden. Hannah shuddered and the edges of a keening moan escaped her lips. Neville reached up to cup her head and guide her mouth to his shoulder, effectively muffling her shout of release. 'For Merlin's sake, Neville, dinner's ready!' Augusta called.

Neville felt his toes curl inside his shoes while his body stiffened. 'Coming, Gran!' he yelped, dimly aware of the irony of his statement. Chest heaving, his forehead dropped to touch Hannah's. 'Ended too soon,' he mumbled.

Hannah leaned back a little. 'We ought to go downstairs,' she said with a regretful sigh.

'When my knees stop shaking…' After a few minutes punctuated by incongruously shy kisses and murmurs, Neville tightened his arms around Hannah's waist and carefully stood up. Hannah's head and shoulders brushed against the clay pots that lined the upper shelves. Neville released her only when her feet were steady on the floor. They quickly put their clothes to rights, then scurried down the stairs into the garden, joining Augusta, Enid, and Algie, already seated at a round table set under the low spreading branches of an oak tree.

'Goodness, dear,' Augusta exclaimed as Hannah settled into the chair between Neville's and Augusta's. 'Were you repotting plants?' She plucked a leaf from Hannah's hair and briskly brushed crumbs of potting soil from her shoulder.

'Neville was just showing me the greenhouses he built,' Hannah said evenly, hoping her cheeks weren't red.

'Well, then.' Augusta lifted her wineglass and held it up. 'Happy birthday, Neville.'

Hannah followed suit. 'Happy birthday,' she murmured.

Neville's hand stole under the table and wrapped around hers. 'Yes, it is…'


	4. Hymns Upon Your Lips

A/N: Happy birthday, LDM...

xxxxxx

_The Great Hall beckoned invitingly on the cold winter night. Thousands of candles floated above the four house tables, set for dinner. It was as it should be, save for one small detail. _

_It was all but deserted._

_Arthur let his bag fall from his shoulder as he approached the Gryffindor table. Molly sat halfway down the table in his usual spot. Except she wasn't sitting on the bench. She perched on the table where his place setting should be. She wore her school uniform – the grey wool pinafore and crisp white cotton shirt minus the heavy black tights and Mary Jane shoes. The pleated skirt of the pinafore swirled merrily around her naked calves as she swung her feet. 'Ready for dinner?' she asked._

'_Sure…' he croaked in reply, glancing around the table. He didn't see food anywhere, but slid into the bench all the same, noticing how much higher the table was. Molly's knees hovered at his chest. Arthur ran the fingertips of one hand lightly up the sole of one of her bare feet, eliciting a soft giggle from Molly. Arthur grinned and cupped his hands around her ankles, gliding them up over her rounded calves, then over to her knees, and back to her ankles. He lifted an ankle to his lips, pressing a kiss against the sun-kissed skin. Freckles were scattered over the ivory hued sweep of her shins, and he caressed each and every one with his lips and hands. Molly's knees opened slightly and Arthur continued his meandering path over her dimpled knees, reveling in the silken warmth of her body. Arthur gently folded the hem of her pinafore back, exposing more of her, wondering for what felt like the thousandth time just what color her knickers were. Plain white cotton? Blue? Pink? He wasn't prepared for the glimpse of blazing scarlet underneath the hem. Dizzily, he shoved the skirt higher, whistling in admiration at the scarlet silk edged with gold lace. _

_Arthur looked up at Molly, wondering if she would make a move to stop him, but she merely moved closer to the edge of the table, thighs parting invitingly. Arthur didn't need to be asked twice. One hand cupped over the juncture of her thighs and she inhaled deeply. Encouraged, he grazed his knuckles over the center of the silk, gratified to see a spreading dampness appear, accompanied by breathy moans. He leaned back slightly. Molly's face was flushed and she sank back on her elbows. 'You shouldn't wear wet clothing,' he informed her._

'_Is that so?'_

'_Mmm-hmmm. Might even catch a cold,' he added impishly._

'_Well, I wouldn't care for that to happen,' Molly said throatily, lifting her hips. Arthur hooked his fingers over the top of the knickers and drew them down over her hips then slipped them down her thighs, over her feet, and dropped them to the floor. He nuzzled her as he slipped one long finger inside her, teasing her before he pressed his mouth to the glistening flesh above his hand. Every thrust of his fingers and sinuous twist of his tongue was a lesson in an agonizingly languid pace that brought Molly to the brink of release, taunting her with its promise before cruelly snatching it away. She sprawled over the table, feet braced against his shoulders, back arching, arms stretched over her head as she grasped for the edge of the table, thighs quivering, pleading for Arthur to let her come. He pushed himself to his feet and watched her as she writhed under his ministrations, hair spilling in a glowing tangle over the stark white tablecloth, dying to relieve the throbbing demand in his groin._

'_Arthur…' she whispered. He shook his head a little. It didn't sound as if it came from the throes of passion. 'Arthur?' The tone grew worried. 'Arthur!'_

xxxxxx

Molly stood in the empty common room, chewing her lower lip. She had hoped she would be able to find Arthur, maybe persuade him to have a go with her in one of the larger classrooms. She needed the practice for the Dueling Club. Ever since Gideon and Fabian had finished school, she lost her regular sparring partners and could feel her edge slipping away. And perhaps later, they could utilize the classroom for dueling of a less magical purpose. Dueling made them both somewhat randy. As for Arthur, he hadn't been at breakfast, and now it was getting close to lunchtime, and he never missed a meal if he could help it. 'Maybe he's sick…' she murmured, heading for the spiral stairs that would lead her to his dormitory. His was on the fourth floor, one floor below where Gideon and Fabian's had been.

Molly knocked politely on the door. Sometimes having older brothers was a good thing. She'd learned quickly boys didn't care for having anyone barge into the bedrooms. Especially first thing in the morning. 'Arthur?' she called. After waiting several moments with no answer, she carefully twisted the doorknob and peered into the semi-darkened room. Arthur's year-mates had all gone home for the Christmas holiday, and he snored softly in his four-poster bed. She stole into the room and tiptoed to his bed, shaking his shoulder. 'Arthur…' He grunted and flopped over on his back. 'Arthur?' Molly prodded him a little harder. 'Arthur!'

Arthur's eyes popped open and he gazed at her hazily. 'Molly?'

'Are you feeling all right?' She moved to lay a hand over his forehead. 'You're awfully warm…'

Arthur started at the sensation of her cool palm on his heated skin. He woke up fully and stiffened at the realization he had been dreaming, but the erection straining his pajamas was quite real. Mortified he flipped over, curling into himself. 'Go away,' he mumbled.

'But it's almost time for lunch,' Molly said hesitantly.

'I'm not hungry,' Arthur retorted, wishing she would leave so he could do something about his body's demands.

Molly turned and walked to the door. She stopped and ventured, 'Are you quite sure you're all right?'

'I'm fine,' he choked. 'Just a dream…' he tried to assure her.

'Was it bad?'

'No…' Arthur breathed. 'It was not.' Carefully, he rolled over, keeping his hands cupped protectively over himself. 'It was about you.' He coughed. 'Doing… Things…'

Molly firmly shut the door and waved her wand at it. The sound of the bolt shooting home echoed in the dormitory. 'Show me.'

Arthur felt his eyes bulge. 'What?' he spluttered.

Molly kicked off her shoes, then unhooked her robes, letting them fall to her feet. She stood in chemise for a long moment. Arthur's eyes widened. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Molly in dishabille. Long rambles in the countryside surrounding the Burrow lent themselves to hidden hollows where they could spend hour upon uninterrupted hour. Her family lived with her great-aunt Muriel in a great barn of a house. It had rooms that were no longer in use, but perfect for dreary, rainy afternoons, perfect to explore the hills and valleys of a more personal nature. But this was more than mere exploration. 'Show me,' she repeated, sliding onto the bed.

Arthur gathered the chemise in his hands and pulled it over her head. 'Yellow…' She wore sunny yellow knickers. It wasn't quite the sensuous scarlet of his dreams, but he didn't care. One finger slid into the top and he tugged at them. 'Are you sure?' She simply smiled and cupped a hand over the front of his pajama bottoms. 'Well, all right, then.' He pulled her knickers off and threw them across the room, and propped up on an elbow. He'd never seen her completely naked before and it was better than even his dreams. Molly was a series of curves and arcs. His head dipped to the valley between her full breasts while his hand rested on her stomach. She shifted and his hand slipped lower, brushing against the warm heat of her arousal. As he had so many times in his imagination, Arthur sank his fingers into Molly, and she growled softly. Arthur rotated his hand a bit, and used his thumb to stroke the sensitive nub of flesh that, according to that book his older brother left hidden under a loose floorboard, would bring Molly the most pleasure.

It worked spectacularly. Her fingers wound into the sheets. 'Ohhhhh,' she moaned. 'Yesssssss.' Her hips bucked against his hand and her body trembled until she pushed at his hand, making him stop. Arthur tugged at the drawstring of his pajamas, scrambling to shove them down. His feet tangled frustratingly in them making Molly giggle. She sat up. 'Wait…' Molly leaned over and worked the pajamas over his feet and let them fall to the floor. 'Now then…' She sat back on her heels and let her gaze roam boldly over Arthur. Slender and lanky, his chest was dusted sparsely with dark red hair that dribbled toward his navel then flared down his abdomen. She let her hand rest on one tensely bunched thigh. 'What do you want me to do…?'

'Touch me…' he rasped, taking her hand and wrapping it firmly around his aching cock. Molly's hand slid up and down according to Arthur's grunted responses. 'Moll… I…' Arthur seized her wrist and dragged her up the bed. He covered her body with his, using his knees to spread her thighs. 'Tell me to stop,' he said raggedly. 'Tell me to stop, and I will…'

'I don't want you to stop.'

Arthur swallowed heavily and patted blindly for his wand. The spell in Billy's book said it had to be cast at just the right moment. Too early and it might wear off and too late and it was a moot point. Arthur wanted a family, eventually. Just not right now. '_Arceovotare_,' he ground out between clenched teeth and his wand fell to the floor with a clatter. The book also said to take his time, but Arthur wasn't certain he would be able to. He slid into Molly and encountered resistance. Molly stiffened, but didn't cry out. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry…' Arthur chanted.

'Don't stop,' Molly gasped. 'Just don't go very fast…'

'Oh… Okay…' Even though the effort to not plunge wildly into Molly felt like being flayed, with every nerve on fire, Arthur willed himself to inch inside her, little by oh-so-little until he was fully sheathed within her body. He nearly came unglued when Molly wrapped first one leg, then the other around his hips, drawing him in deeper. Arthur began to move, awkwardly at first until he found a comfortable rhythm. All too soon, Arthur felt his body convulse as it sought its release of its own accord. Arthur lifted his head, suddenly heavier than usual. Molly's normally wide eyes were sleepy and soft. He managed to shift to the side, spooning against her. 'Are you hungry?' he sighed.

'No…'

'Brilliant.' Arthur reached one long arm out and caught the edge of the bed curtains in his fingertips. They closed with a practiced flick of his wrist, cocooning them in scarlet dusk.


	5. Happy Birthday, Baby

_Just a little drabble for Harry's birthday. It's a scene from chapter 79 of Questions and Answers, written from Ginny's point of view._

XxXxXxX

Ginny awoke in the pale predawn light and carefully slid from the bed, careful not to disturb Harry. She gingerly picked up her wand, holding her breath, lest it drop from her fingertips and clatter to the surface of the bedside table. Ginny stealthily picked up her dressing gown and a bundle she'd placed near the foot of the bed the night before, then padded to the door easing it open, and then closed it soundlessly. Once in the corridor, Ginny pulled her dressing gown over her shoulders and went downstairs to the office. She began to unpack the bundle, placing fresh pajamas for herself and Harry on her desk. She withdrew an obviously battered t-shirt and shook it out, grinning slightly. It was roughly of the same age as Al. Harry had bought it one afternoon shortly after Al was born, while he had taken James into Diagon Alley to give Ginny a bit of a break.

Leaving the office, Ginny went into the kitchen and prepared a light repast of toast and tea, carrying it on a tray back to the office. She charmed the teapot to stay warm and dropped an old knitted cozy over it. She checked the small clock on the corner of her desk and nodded. She had plenty of time. Harry usually woke well before the alarm went off and she had turned it off last night. She trusted that he could find her when he did get up.

Ginny shimmied from her nightdress, and after a silent glance at the ceiling, slipped off her knickers and tossed them into the corner of the room. Inhaling deeply, Ginny scrutinized her body. It had been quite a feat to conceal the amount of attention she'd paid to her personal grooming yesterday. Not that she did much beyond the basics, but on occasion – like now – she did a bit more. Certain activities were much more pleasurable, especially if Harry hadn't had a chance to shave. She dropped into Harry's chair behind his desk and retrieved her hairbrush from the bundle and began to brush her hair. It wasn't as long as it had been when they'd married nearly twenty years ago. Then, it had been long enough to brush the small of her back. How Harry had loved to make love with her, curtained in the auburn waves that draped over them both. She'd cut it before Al was born into a short bob, just below her chin. It was as much a statement as necessity. James wasn't yet two years old and she had admittedly grown weary of keeping it out of his chubby, sticky fingers. Once Lily was old enough to keep her hands out of Ginny's hair, she'd allowed it to grow out once more. Now, it was just below her shoulder blades. Long enough that she felt the need to loosely plait it at night, but not so long that it took ages to brush or comb her hair anymore.

Harry had picked up the habit of brushing her hair for her in the evenings before bed from time to time. He would sit on the edge of the armchair while she sat on the floor at his feet, leaning against his shins while he ran the brush through her hair. More often than not in those early days together, the brush ended up abandoned on the bureau while Harry tugged impatiently at the knot in the sash of her dressing gown. Ginny smiled to herself as she ran the brush through her hair.

She shook her hair out and laid the brush down in the center of the desk, tugging a bit at the hem of the t-shirt as she moved to sit on the edge of the desk. The collar and hems were fraying. The original blazing scarlet of the t-shirt itself was now faded into a sort of brick red. The image of a roaring lion had once been bright gold and had dimmed to a dull yellow. It was one of Harry's favorites.

Ginny rearranged herself on the desk, glancing at the clock once more. If she knew Harry, he would be awake soon and expecting to find her in their bed. He didn't like to have a fuss made over his birthday, other than a small cake at dinner – preferably chocolate – and would rather the attention go to the children. Al's birthday in June, Lily's only a month later, then James' in September. Tonight would be the rare exception. Ron and Hermione had insisted on throwing a party for Harry, arguing that turning forty was a momentous event. They had managed to persuade him on the condition that they would take care of all the arrangements, which Ginny was certain they were prepared to do in the first place, so quickly did they offer. The had given in to Harry's demand that only family be invited, but given the Weasleys' definition of "family", their back garden was to play host to quite a large gathering.

Ginny could hear the door of their bedroom creak softly, though it sounded quite loud in the still morning. Harry's footfalls thudded dully on the staircase, and Ginny's head turned to the partially open office door in anticipation.

'Gin?' Harry called softly.

'Harry, will you come in here a moment?' Ginny's throaty voice flowed through the gap.

Harry peered around the edge of the door, pushing it open a bit wider. His mouth fell open, and his jaw worked for a moment as he struggled to breathe. 'Oh…'

'Happy fortieth,' she murmured.

'Yeah… thanks…' Harry's breath caught in his throat. She smiled at him, her head tilted to one side. 'Nice shirt,' he said lamely, sidling into the room, closing the door behind him, leaning against it.

'I couldn't think what to get you,' Ginny continued, tossing her hair over her shoulder. On Harry's twentieth birthday, mere weeks before their wedding, he had shyly confessed one of his fantasies to her. It had involved a Burrow blessedly free of other occupants, and therefore no Ron to barge in and end their kiss. Harry had flushed brightly as he described – in detail – what he would have liked to do with her then. This was as close as Ginny could get.

Harry took a few stumbling steps into the room. 'You didn't have to get me anything,' he choked. His right hand moved to the straining front of his boxers, in a vain attempt to adjust what was rapidly becoming an annoyingly constricting piece of clothing.

'I didn't know what would be useful. I mean, what does one get a man who doesn't want for material things? Who keeps clothing for ages,' Ginny added ruefully, fingering the frayed collar of the t-shirt. 'Whose only indulgence is a very fast, and very good broom, but that's been taken care of in the last year.' She slid off the desk and closed the gap between the two of them, tugging the t-shirt over her head, letting it fall carelessly behind her.

Harry's eyes went perfectly round. 'But the children…' he rasped.

'Charmed the office,' Ginny assured him. 'We could play Quidditch in here, and they'd never hear a sound.'

'Brilliant.' Harry's own t-shirt joined the one Ginny had been wearing, followed quickly by the soft flannel boxers. His lips met Ginny's, then trailed down the side of her neck, making her shiver. She loved the feel of his stubble against the tender skin behind her ear, and arched into it like a cat.

Harry went to his knees, bringing Ginny with him, and Ginny laid a hand in the center of his chest, gently pushing him back until he lay on the floor, an expectant smile hovering over his lips. Ginny placed one knee, then the other on either side of Harry's hips, straddling him. He made a sudden move, as if to surge into her, but she just shook her head. 'Let me.' She chuckled softly to see his throat bob as he swallowed. Ginny wound her fingers through his and leaned forward until her mouth danced over his. Her hair slowly fell around their faces, and Harry briefly turned his head to inhale its familiar scent. 'Happy birthday,' she breathed, just before lowering her head and tracing the line between his lips with her tongue. Harry's lips parted and Ginny deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue with her own. Harry moaned into her mouth and slid a hand into Ginny's hair. He pulled her head back and nibbled the skin just under her jaw, making a meandering path to the pulse at the base of her throat. His other hand slipped between them and Harry eased a finger inside her, resting his thumb right… there… Ginny shuddered as his fingers began to move slowly. He would tease her, bringing her to the brink, then stop. It was maddening, but when he finally stroked her into coming, it was all the more intense for it. Ginny gasped and allowed Harry to tug her body down to his. 'It's your birthday,' she panted. 'I'm supposed to give you pleasure.'

Harry nuzzled Ginny's cheek. 'Then you have no idea what it's like to watch you.' His arms slid around her waist and she reveled in the warmth of his skin. One of Harry's hands drifted up to tuck a lock of hair behind Ginny's ear. 'Just having you with me right now, that's the best birthday present I could have wished for.'

XxXxXxX

A/N: I really wanted to post this on Wednesday (and the idea to do this just hit me Wednesday afternoon) in honor of Harry's birthday, but it got really late and I fell asleep (it was almost midnight).

So Happy Belated Birthday, Harry. ;)


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